The Augurey's Song
by Duskrider Q
Summary: This is a story about true friendship, the extent of love, adulthood, and the mystery of Harry’s destiny to defeat Voldemort, but most of all about hope. James and Lily try desperately to find the secret of the prophesy before Voldemort fulfills it. JL
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own, so you don't sue. All rights go to J.K. Rowling except for my pleasure of toying with her ideas.  
  
"The Augurey's Song" By: Duskrider Q  
  
A/N: I have to give credit where credit is due. I want to thank SilverElf for her great ideas on improving this fanfic like for the first conversation... oh but everything else is entirely my work! I plan on taking this through until the Potter's deaths. I've never been impressed with any fanfics of that that I've read.  
Wilkes' first name is my creation, taken from the demon Hatier.  
  
Albus Dumbledore took five strides up the muddy pathway and pushed open the door to a moldy bar. He started through the entrance when the mournful cry of a bird stopped him in his tracks. His soft blue eyes, clad by half moon glasses, turned their attention upward to the sobbing of an Augurey circling low over the inn he was about to enter. The bird embodied sadness in it's most obvious form, with a tearful melody of a song, and a beak that curved into an apparent frown, and it's feathers were glossy and ashen-green. He knew this although he could hardly discern the bird from the depressed clouds, and pour of rain.  
  
"Close the door, fool! You'll let the heat out!" yelled the barman, shaking an empty bottle of whiskey at him. Dumbledore sighed, though he was not offended in the least. He simply did as told, although it seemed that in the three seconds he had been gazing skyward, all the heat had escaped in a haste. The pub was just as freezing as was outside on the street. He had not meant to offend anyone with his moment of reverie, however.  
  
It was only that the Augurey had gained the title of the Irish Phoenix. In the past century, the Ireland native bird had abandoned it's old superstition as an omen of death for a symbol of solace. The Augurey was not a real phoenix like Fawkes, Dumbledore's own friend, pet, and confidant. It couldn't die in a self-ignited blaze and be reborn from it's ashes as a hatchling. But it was as inspirational as its scarlet and gold namesake because it only flew in heavy rain, and after all heavy rain there eventually was a new day and sun. There was hope... and there had been precious little of that in the weary world lately.  
  
"My apologies." Dumbledore replied politely to the barman whom he approached.  
  
The entire place reeked of something like goats, enhanced by wetness. The rain did nothing for washing the windows, but no one seemed to have minded. This shrouded the entire, little room in dimness challenged only by candle stubs on the few small tables.  
  
Besides the filth everyone within the pub looked rather ... seclusive. A hag in the far corner busied herself sorting through various sized eyeballs. Two hooded men talked beside the stairway over large mugs of half-depleted fire-whiskey, and a different pair with distinctive Yorkshire accents laughed merrily over pints. Another man sat by himself, half his face covered in a shiny, dark mask. It looked as though something had burned that part of his face, and he wished to cover the scar. The barman who poured large jug of bubbling, multi-colored alcohol into a mug, looked very different.  
  
In fact, he looked a lot like Dumbledore. His beard matched Dumbledore's own in length except his was more gray. His eyes, however, were a dull green and his nose was straight in contrast to Dumbledore. He wore plain brown robes and a thick black belt, very unlike Dumbledore's fancy silver and dark blue robes. Other than those minor details the twocould be twins!  
  
"Hello, Aberforth."  
  
His brother grunted. Albus Dumbledore took this as an acknowledgment. Aberforth Dumbledore had never been much for words. Often, when his mind was on his latest "experiment," he didn't converse or do much else but work on it. That was probably the reason why the inn was slipping into such fetid filth.  
  
"One Charedelli on the rocks!" Aberforth called. Soon the hag wobbled over leaving her eyeballs on the table to collect the drink. "wit' de'... extra touch... ma'am." She hobbled away with a rotten toothed smile.  
  
Aberforth flashed his dull eyes to Albus before bidding, "Can't stay. Gotta' go check on Miz' 'Dite. Nearin' a breakthrough."  
  
"Who, Aberforth?"  
  
"Miz 'Dite." Albus politely shook his head again, and Aberforth yelled, "Miz 'DITE!!!!!" The two hoods swerved their heads slightly in their direction.  
  
"No, no!" said Dumbledore, rubbing his ears as his brother took in another large breath, preparing to scream again. "I heard you perfectly fine. Who is she? Even for wizards our age I expect that it's never too late for a love interest."  
  
"A goat."  
  
"Well, Aberforth, I hardly think she's your type!" Dumbledore exclaimed with shock  
  
"Albus, I only been talkin' 'bout Miss Aphrodite fer a year. The brindle goat who's helpin' me on me latest project."  
  
"Oh, yes, however you won't tell me exactly what purpose she has been serving," Aberforth kept his eyes surveying his clients as they drank, saying, "She's learnin'. Ain't that good enough fer ya'?"  
  
Dumbledore sighed, as his brother bustled out of the bar into the backroom. Whatever Ms. Dite was "learning," Dumbledore soon decided that he just might not want to know after all. He sat down himself as he noticed the latest Daily Prophet on the countertop with a bold headline reading, "Muggle and Wizard Helping Healer Tortured." Another photograph of the Dark Mark shimmered above what was left of the house of a Mr. Tobblemyers and his wife, according to the caption underneath. Sadly, every paper for the last decade had had some story about a disappearance, a murder, or a torture. Albus was doing all he could by running Hogwarts, running the Order of the Phoenix, serving as a chairman fo the International Confederation of Wizards, and as Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot (the wizarding high court), but the world continually slipped into turmoil anyway. It was beginning to look as if Voldemort would never fall.  
  
The door slamming behind him shook him out of his trance. Aberforth made his way back behind the bar. "Not yet. She's still missinÕ. Ain't you got some business or sumn' to attenÕta?Ó he asked. Dumbledore smiled at Aberforth, hoping he had finally acknowledged his presence, but Aberforth had continued eyeing the two hddled over firewhiskey. Still, perhaps his brother did know something. His expressionless face and voice made it difficult to tell. "Excuse me, Aberforth." started Dumbledore, and the bartender turned his face to him, "Do you know anything about a woman whoÕs come here to meet me?"  
  
Aberforth looked around the bar. "Well, dereÕs that one," he started motioning to the hag, who had progressed to shooting marbles with the eyeballs, "AnÕ den dereÕs a witch with too many beads and too big specks. Went upstairs a couple hours ago."  
  
"Ah," said Dumbledore happily, "That'll be my applicant for the post of Divination. She's quite earlier than I expected," he glanced at his solar system watch and noticed that Neptune had passed Pluto, "but then I am much later than I intended."  
  
Aberforth gave him a strange look. "Why not do this at Hogwarts? Ain't that where you're teachin' now?"  
  
"I wish I knew. My potential professor requested we do her interview away from the castle. I decided to respect her wishes."  
  
"You'll regret it." Aberforth's eyes roamed over some of his clients in shrewd suspicion. "I remember every hood that comes into this bar, Albus. Most of them are usuals, but" his voice lowered, "A couple of 'em are shifty-like. You 'ought ta keep yer voices down if yer smart. Oh yeah, and no one in 'ere 'as mentioned anyt'in of yer concerns," refering to the Order, "Still people here like listenin' ta others talkin' more'n talkin' 'emselves."  
  
"Thank you for the advice, Aberforth. You will alert me should anyone try to spy on my conversation then?" Aberforth grunted and turned away, his wisdom spent. Albus Dumbledore headed upstairs. He strode past the two hooded figures with Yorkshire accents, and the half masked man who slumped over as Dumbledore passed. The boards creaked under his weight and one was nearly rotten through. Dumbledore drew his wand from the inside pocket of his night-blue robes. He stopped in his place, waved it almost lazily, at the step in front of him. Instantly, the step in front of him turned shiny, strong, and mended as though a skilled carpenter had just carved, sanded, and waxed it.  
  
Dumbledore didn't bother to do the same for the entire staircase although he could have. Uninvited help was more often an insult than a welcome. His brother had often resented such help as he, Albus, had gained world renown, while Aberforth's only success had been managing the Hog's Head; however, Dumbledore had worked hard for his positions and skill, while Aberforth had chosen not even to attend Hogwarts, much to their parents dismay. In the case of the step, placing a foot on it could have been dangerous. Better safe than sorry.  
  
Dumbledore reached the landing and a door stood on each side of him. The question was: which door was his interviewee waiting behind? He motioned to knock on the right door, but the door swung open slowly of its own accord. A woman's misty voice invited from within shakily, "Ah, Professor Dumbledore, you have arrived safely as I knew you would." This pronouncement did neither impress nor unease Dumbledore. She'd have to do a little better than a mystical front and everyday wishes to get the job. He stepped inside and shut the door.  
  
At the circular table centered in the middle of the room, sitting very ridged and fidgeting with a napkin was the woman draped in scarves, glittering rings, and beads. Her prescription lenses acted much more like two magnifying glasses taped together showing her eyes to be ten times their normal size. There were runs in her stockings and patches on her robes.  
  
Dumbledore also took notice of why she most likely had arrived so early. The room had been lit with dim candles, enchanted to glow pink. Many stems of incense burned all around the room proving to be almost overwhelming mixing with the dust of the air. She had laid three decks of cards, a crystal ball, seven pendants, two chipped cups, and several other items of the nature on the plain bed situated in the corner of the room. The grimy window had been covered with a thin shimmering pink scarf.  
  
"I take it that I find you well, as well... Miss Sibyl P. Trelawney, I presume," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. He then with the flick of his wand drew up a chintz armchair that fell with a thud in front of the table. "I have been looking forward to this interview. As I read in your resume, you are the great-great granddaughter of Cassandra Vablatsky." Truthfully Dumbledore was not looking forward to the interview, but nor was he dreading it. He had never held much stock in Divination, but common courtesy told him that he should meet such a promising prospect. "I'm curious to know, however, why we could not conduct this interview at Hogwarts."  
  
"I find that Hogwarts is too large a place with much magic interweaved in her walls. For future reference, large crowds cloud my Sight as well. You'll understand, Professor Dumbledore, why I preferred someplace like the Hog's Head which is more private and... less... financially demanding."  
  
Dumbledore nodded in comprehension. When he was naught but a lad himself, and starting out his career within the Ministry, he too had found it hard to make ends meet. Furthermore, the Hog's Head, even before Aberforth's ownership, had been known for being "less financially demanding," as Sibyl Trelawney so eloquently put it. "Understandable. Now, I must apologize for my tardiness. It's raining kneazles and krups! My thestrals experienced difficulty pulling my carriage through--"  
  
"Thestrals?" Trelwney exclaimed. She sat up in full attention, dropped her napkin, and almost smiled for some reason. "Not only can you see them, but they pull your carriage. Dear sir. Poor, dear sir. Why, they are a walking omen of... death." She emphasized the last word in a foreboding whisper. It seemed that death omens were her area of interest, but not expertise.  
  
He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "I have been able to see them for many years. I have discovered that they can be rather friendly, if not annoyed. I am licensed to own them, I assure you."  
  
Miss Trelawney looked aghast as if he might as well have said that the Grim was his best friend. An uneasy silence arose and with it, a call for a change of subject. "In any case, should you get the job, I wonder how you expect to teach at Hogwarts if so much magic clouds your-- er-- Inner Eye."  
  
"Some room or place slightly from the hustle and bustle of the more busy sections of Hogwarts will do," she answered without hesitation. At least she had thought about it.  
  
"Very well. Then, shall we begin?" Dumbledore drew his wand out once more and with a flick, a piece of parchment appeared. Questions in his loopy scrawl magically surfaced on the paper as the slightest of thoughts crossed his mind.  
  
"What have you previously worked as?"  
  
She even replied simple question in an airy, eathral tone. "I owned and ran the family shop, Mystic Menagerie for the first ten years after my mother passed away. My sister took over when I decided to seek my treasure on my own. I traveled with a Muggle carnival for ten years working the fortune telling booth, but they. . . no, I asked them to leave because. . . because it was obvious the customers could never truly grasp and except their fates!"  
  
After a general Q and A, he asked her other things such as how she would deal with students in need of advice pertaining to her field of knowledge, for instance nightmares.  
  
"Well, Professor, should the weary young soul seek me out wondering what the dark figure in their dream meant I would be completely honest with them. The shadowy figure is often the very manifestation of the Grim Reaper or else a stalking spirit trying to communicate with the student. If you have ever had such dreams, Professor Dumbledore," she leaned in on a whisper, "Beware... Beware sharp objects, suspicious places, odd people, and of course, creatures."  
  
Dumbledore knew before their meeting that she was the last descendant of a wondrous Seer, but apparently the talent skipped a generation. He endured half an hour of hearing that the very orange he ate for a snack that morning foretold a loss, pain, or death. "I thought that it looked a bit rotten," he indulged amusedly but still sat unimpressed. Her predecessor, Professor Esmerelda Zabini's fashion of Divination was quite similar. She was a gypsy who came in contact with a cursed deck of cards. (For lack of most of her body parts, they held her memorial service two days after the sad twist of fate.)  
  
Next in the interview came the Grand Finale!  
  
"Is there anything else you would like to show me, Miss Trelawney?" Dumbledore asked still trying to look attentive as she set up a miniature model of the solar system encased in a glass dome. Each planet revolved around the sun encircled by their respective moons.  
  
"Just one. Now, Professor I ask you to relax and direct your attention. . ." she withdrew her wand for the first time and tapped the dome; as she did so a light from within the dome projected the solar system in 3-D onto the ceiling. "To the sky!" she finished proclaiming in full blown mysticism. The ceiling had turned a dark blue and all the moving planets looked astounding despite the loose boards of the ceiling slowly succumbing to gravity (none were directly over their heads).  
  
"As you can see Mars is glowing more prominently than any which is odd given that Mercury, Venus, and Earth are closer to the sun (don't look directly at that, by the way, even though it's transparent in the model). This mean that we here on Earth are in dire danger of burns." Mars suddenly loomed in Dumbledore's direction though he did not so much as flinch. Miss Trelawney continued in a higher voice than necessary, "We should all be on guard of hot objects, fire, and when attempting complex spells. . . dangerous spells especially! Mar's time of dominance could very well be FATAL!" She made a sudden sweeping motion over the dome with her wand, leaving glittering sparks in trail. Shivering slightly she held Dumbledore's gaze, probably still anxious, and awaited a reaction.  
  
Dumbledore discerned that she would have liked him to gasp at that point, but he truly didn't have it in him to lie to that extent. The hardest part was finding comforting words for what he had to say now to Ms. Trelawney. He sighed. "Miss Trelawney, I want to thank you for your time this evening. I think that you are a woman serious about her profession, but I do not believe you are right for the job. I wish you much suc--"  
  
"But-- but wait," she said in a frantic voice that completely forgot the ethereal sound she'd been using. "I can read tarot cards! Or may-- maybe... Please don't leave. The landlord is threatening to evict me... I need the pay." She began to sob.  
  
Dumbledore stood and with true pity told her, "If you would like I can lend you the money to make your rent for this month--" She chocked back another sob as she dabbed her tears under her glasses. She didn't reply, only removed the napkin from her face and let her hands fall into her lap with a soft thud. She dropped her sight down to her lap.  
  
"I am very sorry." Dumbledore sighed once more and turned to leave, but at that moment Dumbledore heard two men having a brief scuffle outside. Then the door violently burst open and the man with half a shiny dark mask rolled into the room his hood slipped off revealing disheveled brown hair. Dumbledore's brother towered in the doorway. "Aberforth what is this?"  
  
"Like I said, People like ta' hear others talkin' more'n talkin' 'emselves. I went into the back room to finish up with Miz. Dite when I noticed his table empty and his drink full. Something was up, I knowed so. I ain't stupid. Found 'im crouched by the doorway, I did."  
  
"I didn't even expect you to be here Dumbledore, but there was nothing of importance said," came a familiar voice.  
  
"Do I know you?" inquired Dumbledore.  
  
Half a crooked smile came from behind the glossy dark mask, "You thought you did. I found a better mentor by my fifth year." Dumbledore felt himself swell with fury knowing what he implied and registering the voice.  
  
"Hatius Wilkes?" The masked man's half visible grin stretched wider.  
Feeling his anger radiate off him Dumbledore unleashed his wand on the intruder who quickly raised half-way off the floor. He scuffled backwards into Aberforth who pushed him back face forward onto the ground.  
  
The three men soon began shouting over each other.  
  
"--My affairs are none of Voldemort's business--"  
  
"--NEVER speak his name! The Dark Lord is not interested in such trivial meetings anyway--"  
  
"--What's Voldemort planning--"  
  
"--Pay or get out--"  
  
"--Aberforth, I do believe that there are more pressing matters--"  
  
"--I will be rewarded by my master for my defiance of you--"  
  
"--Can I go? Miz' Dite iz waitin', Albus--"  
  
"--THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES. . ."  
  
A voice that belonged to none of the three wizards had rumbled from behind them quite different from Sybil Trelawney's. All attention shifted to the woman at the table. Dumbledore had instinctively turned his wand behind him, but left some focus on the masked man named Wilkes who was evidently a Death Eater. Should the Death Eater or the new intruder with the rumbling voice try something, he was not vulnerable. But it seemed that the only new presences were Aberforth and Wilkes. Only Sybil Trelawney sat beside him.  
  
Sybil's head had lolled to her shoulder, her mouth slacked, and drool ran from her lip. "BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . ." bellowed Sybil. Was she speaking what Dumbledore thought she was?  
  
"Or perhaps this meeting is not a trifle," breathed the Death Eater clearly astonished.  
  
Fury dictated Dumbledore's wand as the man still sprawled before him was effortlessly tossed out the door like a rag doll. Aberforth stepped aside to avoid collision. He raised his wand at the Death Eater who hit the opposite door of the landing. There was a explosion of light.  
  
Over the tumbling down the stairs the deep voice of The Seer's Tongue continued, "AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT. . ." long pauses came between each revelation, "AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES. . ." Dumbledore contemplated all pieces and repeated the lines to himself silently. They each brought a kind of reassurance "THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES. . . ," like the Augurey's song.  
  
After Sybil Trelawney awoke from her trance and apologized for fainting, it became obvious that she had no memory of her prophesy. She quickly remembered what had last been said to her, however, and began to cry once more. Dumbledore assured her that it would all be alright, that he had in fact made a mistake in refusing her the position of Divination teacher at Hogwarts. After her magnificent prophesy it had become apparent to him that he had given up on more than one thing lately. Having her close at Hogwarts would be more of an asset than a deprivation should she prophesize about anything again, especially Voldemort, this mysterious One, or the outcome of the war. In a way, Professor Trelawney had unpredictably sang of hope, just like the augurey. 


	2. Aurora Brings Life

Disclaimer: I don't own, so you don't sue. All rights go to J.K. Rowling except for my pleasure of toying with her ideas.  
  
"The Augurey's Song" Chapter two "Aurora Brings Life" by Duskrider Q  
  
A/N: Aurora is the Greek goddess of dawn and her name is also given to Northern Lights. I chose it because she's helping to bring Harry into the world and Harry like the Augurey's Song promises a new day.  
  
Lily Potter stood in the kitchen of her parents old home with an also nine months pregnant Alice Longbottom, who was educating Lily yet again about motherhood. . . . Alice sighed gruffly, "No! You can't carry a baby like that." reaching towards Lily's massive belly, "here let me show you. . ." Lily made a motion for her wand. This was her unborn son, not that chubby know-it-all's. . . But Alice was suddenly not round-faced and insisting, but pale and demanding. She had morphed into a hideous man with long, slick, dark hair and inhumane red eyes. Voldemort grinned filed-sharp teeth and ordered with a slight glimpse of a forked tongue, "Give me the boy. . ." Lily tripped over something as she backed up. . . She hit the floor hard, worrying if her carelessness had hurt the baby . . . She was completely paralyzed. . ! She looked down and to the side seeing that what she had tripped over was her hero and husband James lying dead under her feet with blank eyes. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes with a mixture of pain and horror she had only known once before, but she couldn't scream, move away from him, or move to him. . . . Voldemort hissed and held his wand to Lily's stomach. . . if only she could get up! Green light flashed and a screeching cackle rang in her ears.  
  
Lily awoke from her sleep in a shuddering gasp, and an icy sweat. Something was wrong-- She knew it-- She felt it-- She saw it! Her pale hands moved instinctively over her round belly. Her son jerked; had he sensed it too? She turned her head quickly to see her husband lying still. He was perfectly fine, judging by the slight smile brought by dreams and the steady rise and fall of his chest. She looked around her bedroom but nothing confirmed her suspicions. Shadows of the moonlit treeleaves danced with the wind on the dark walls. Nothing was wrong, but her trembling told her otherwise. A crippled memory of cold and awfulness caused her to shiver uncontrollably.  
  
This was not the first time in the last few months that Lily had awoken frightened and quivering. Everytime she tried to recall what had scared her, but hardly anything returned to her.  
  
Deciding that she needed a glass of water or maybe even a shot of something stronger (after all a small glass for the first time in nine months couldn't hurt now). She moved for the kitchen, trying not to wake her husband. But she couldn't move gracefully or softly to anything anymore. With a trick of her arms she had invented, moving them up and in front of her like a wave, she raised herself into sitting position as the baby inside her pushed uncomfortably into her diaphragm.  
  
She thought with a twitch at the corners of her mouth, "I'm not even pushing yet and you're a pain?" Lily could tell that their son would be a nice baby. Aside from waking her up every so often at night kicking, and the couple of times she had fainted in her first three months, he hadn't been a pain at all, truthfully.  
  
Still shaking slightly, she snatched up a robe at the foot of the bed, and with a backwards glance at James, who's head had lolled toward her and the door, tiptoed as best she could down the stairwell. Her hand trailed over an ornate, gold, and oak banister. The other moved a lock of dark red hair behind her ear that had escaped from her braid. The soft carpet of the wide staircase that circled to the sittingroom massaged her feet on every step. Classic antiques and gorgeous paintings decorated the entire three story house.  
  
Although James had inherited the Potter estate, he could no longer bear to live there because both of his parents had passed. Due to the neglect of an Assistant Healer, his mother's tragic demise came after recovering from dragonpox, but catching a lesser disease soon after. This was followed exactly two months later by the death of his father, who was trampled in a panicked crowd when someone falsely shouted rumor of a Death Eater attack. James wouldn't speak for three days, just nod if spoken to. Lily understood this about him: James could only pull himself out of depressing situations, and that the best was for him to open up to her was to wait. So one night she walked over to James who was sitting besides an half empty whiskey bottle, sat down next to him, rested her head on his shoulder, and waited. After hours of silence rippled only by breathing, he slipped his hand into hers. Words like the one of their talk scorched and relieved all at once, but the last of them brought indescribable satisfaction. They'd lived in this new house together for the two years since they'd been married.  
  
Lily reached the kitchen which was filled with Muggle and wizarding spices, fine silverware, and soft colors. She liked the kitchen best out of all of the rooms,because she could be creative with her cooking. . . particularly since her pregnancy began.  
  
Lily drew a tall glass from one of the cabinets and took out a bottle of white wine. Steadying her hands as best as she could, she poured herself a drink for indulgence. She sank heavily into a chair at the dinner table with her glass and felt what she hadn't noticed of her shaking return to her. This time she could only remember flashes of fear, helplessness, confusion, sadness, all like on the day she saw her parents dead. And then there remained one sound. . . a familiar, chilling cackle. Then her shivering worsened.  
  
"Still can't remember what's waking you, Love?" Lily turned her head towards the doorway. James was leaning there with his house robe loosely draped around his shoulders. His dark mess of hair was flattened to one side. He rubbed his glasses to his pajama leg. He placed them on his handsome, thin face which contracted in a slight frown as his chiseled arms crossed in front of his chest. He had a slender build but a nice physique none the less.  
  
When these night terrors had first began, James lovingly joked about it as he held her. But then inquiries asked in mock earnest like, "The Boogie Man got you, again, Lils? You know he's just an idiot kelpie." gradually turned into, "Are you sure that you're all right?"  
  
Lily kept quiet and gazed into her drink.  
  
James walked along the side of the table big enough to seat ten until he reached his wife. His hazel eyes flashed. "You're shaking," he said with a hint of alarm, and draped his house robe over hers.  
  
As he gingerly removed the glass from her hands, his eyes flickered to the wine in a small double take. "As you're due any day," he began with his eyes slightly narrowed, "but haven't touched a drop for all three trimesters, I'll let that slide. But you shouldn't have had--"  
  
"I don't need you telling me what I should and shouldn't do while pregnant, James," Lily snapped raising with much effort to her feet, and feeling her deep green eyes ablaze with emotions. She knew that she was wrong, and that no alcohol should touch her lips even then. Any drink or food that was too magical or mind-altering during this time was unhealthy for the baby, even one too many butterbeers! The matter seemed touchy tonight for some reason. Right then, the feelings of her sleep, not to mention a mood swing, were taking hold, so she simply didn't care.  
  
James rose and stared her down, "It's my baby as much as yours!"  
  
"I get enough from Alice Longbottom talking to me as if she's on her fiftieth pregnancy rather than her first, without having to hear it from you, too! Just because I'm twenty--"  
  
"I only felt you get up, and wanted to know what's up--"  
  
"Well if I could just remember what's doing it, I would tell you!" Lily shouted noticing her hysteria. She truly did want him on her side, but there wasn't a lot to go on in a conversation about what she couldn't recall. She recognized Voldemort's laugh in the dream because it was the last thing that happened before she'd always wake up, but everything else was vague or forgotten.  
  
A beat of silence sounded. Lily instantly noticed that James had been scrutinizing her face. "Or is it that you do remember and you're just not telling me?" James asked darkly.  
  
Lily couldn't bear the emotion. Everything from her waist down felt heavy and everything from her waist up felt light. She noticed the feeling flush out of her in a tear and an exhale. She hardly noticed that that was not all that flushed out of her. Liquid that brought an aroma like the ocean splashed to the floor at their feet. She collapsed side ways into James and black.  
  
Lily jolted from her short sleep with an uncomfortable squeeze inside her abdomen, slightly painful. She had dreamt that she was eating dinner with her parents, but now she remembered that her parents had died at the end of her seventh year of Hogwarts. She remembered that it was the middle of the night possibly very early morning, and that she was in the kitchen a while ago but was now laid on a bed in one of the guest room. A stack of towels were at her feet, and a blanket lay over her.  
  
"Lily!" James was instantly beside her and through her half-sleep she guessed he might have jogged to her side. He stroked her forehead and she let a yawn escape her mouth. "I've flooed the Healer-Midwife," he said. "She's just come to call."  
  
Following soon after James, who was now dressed in one of his casual, tan, day robes, was a blonde, brown-eyed woman in her mid-thirties. She had a stylish bag with four golden clasps the size of a briefcase hung on her shoulder, but pale blue, plain robes much in the fashion of the green ones Lily wore to Healer training at St. Mungo's.  
  
The blonde who Lily supposed was the Healer-Midwife inclined her head, then greeted,"'Lo Mrs. Potter. My name is Aurora J. Haven. I will be delivering your baby. Labor can be scary and worrisome. Labor IS trying and torturous, but you needn't fret, as long as you listen to my instructions. Would you like any medicine to ease the pain before we begin?" Lily shook her head no. She wanted bragging rights. She had something to prove to Ms. Alice Know-It-All.  
  
"Well then we'll get started." Haven piped, situating the towels under Lily's naked bottom.  
  
Lily's first impression of her was a woman too serious, making this task of helping her deliver into business like an open-and-shut court case. She wanted someone like a friend for the job, but then Healer Haven flashed a comforting smile like a sunrise and added, "And at if any point you think this kid too painful, just wait a little over a decade." Lily smiled back. Maybe Haven was worth a chance.  
  
James, who was chuckling softly at the joke next to Haven and herself, would be here, too. He looked reminisent, though, and Lily wondered if she might as well be having twins for the load of help heÕd be raising their son...  
  
Lily curiously watched Healer Haven unbutton the top of Lily's pajamas up to her bosom. Then watched Haven open the fourth clasp on her bag and pull out a silky roll of wet, transparent parchement which she ripped off at a desired length.  
  
"What is that?" James questioned Lily's own wonder, but soon found the question answered without words. When Haven laid the clingly parchement over Lily's belly it glowed then faded into a clear view of what was happening within Lily's bulge. There was her baby boy, curled up, and ready to come out headfirst. He looked as gorgeous as the day she went to a Muggle doctor for a check-up.  
  
Lily turned her head excitedly to James who was wearing a face mixed with awe and excitement. Lily wondered if under that he too felt as nervous as she did about her finally being in labor.  
  
There was a lot of preparation and compromise leading to this moment. ÒCompromise is the key to a marriage.Ó That was what Lily's mother told her anyway. So when The Great Birth Debate happened, James argued that the Manchester Midwives had been around for ages and were the only way to go. Lily wanted a Muggle hospital but instead suggested St. Mungos for common ground.  
  
"Lily," James had said shaking his head with a wry smile, "how can you work there and not have noticed that St. Mungos doesn't have a Maternity Ward?"  
  
Lily had then endured a small shock and muttered with annoyance, "What kind of hospital doesn't have delivery rooms?" James's answer was, "The wizarding kind."  
  
Lily still got her way on Lamaze classes however because a friend of her late mother owned, ran one, and was more than eager to help. She had to settle on the midwife in the end. At least this woman turned out to be a practiced Healer. James and Frank Longbottom had looked into them, for there had be a lot of impostors in times like these.  
  
But then, that day in the guest room, Lily regretted her stubbornness at not having gone all the way with James's suggestion. Lamaze classes worked for Muggles but not for witches. At first the contractions were uncomfortable, then painful, but as they neared home stretch and spans of ten minutes were all that separated Lily screams and grimaces, the contractions had turned down right torturous! Constant ache seemed to follow in between as well to the point that nothing on her body, not just her stomach area seemed to scream in agony. Lily's torment led her to victimize many other things around the room aside from herself. The mirror on the wall shattered when she shot a nasty glare at it during a particularly ugly contraction which she attempted to breathe through.  
  
After six hours, Lily felt that there should be an entirely new word for the type of "pain" labor was causing. The very muscles in her bulge were ripping themselves, trying to squeeze something the size of a small watermelon out something the size of a lemon, which had only expanded to the size of a mango. Sweat was pouring down her face now. And though the very act was stressing, projecting her powers, though accidentally were taking a lot of energy out of her too.  
  
"Can't you do something!" Lily gasped after another tight contraction.  
  
Healer Haven interjected exasperatedly but sweetly with honest sympathy, "If you had taken my classes rather than Lamaze with Muggles, who couldn't possibly tell you how to control your powers under stress, you wouldn't be taking your pain out on other things." Again Lily despised Haven; what good did that comment do her?  
  
"Yeah," mumbled James stroking his hand lovingly, "Like me." He had insisted on hold Lily's hand through the ordeal, until she suddenly gained the strength of ten men during another evil squeeze within her abdomen. The Healer-Midwife had to charm the eight broken bones inside James's right hand back to perfect mend. At that point, he resigned to stroking her head every so often and retrieving things Healer Haven asked for.  
  
While James busied himself searching Haven's bag, Lily screamed through another contraction. After it passed she noticed Haven with her head cocked sympathetically. "I've been there too, Lily. I have two daughters... TheyÕve been the love of my life since my husband died." For the first time Lily was seeing a person. Up until now, this midwife had done nothing but reprimand and attended to business. "It's unbearable now, but you have to learn as you go along. No class can really prepare you," Haven finished. They exchanged grins.  
  
"See, Lils," James chuckled, "I didn't have to go to Lamaze classes with you after all."  
  
Lily rolled her eyes at her husband and panted to the Healer-Midwife, ÒDr. Haven-- er-- Aurora, if thatÕs alright by you,Ó Haven nodded, ÒIÕm just...Ó Lily trailed off unable to articulate the many feelings welling inside. ÒHow much longer?Ó  
  
The Healer directed James to remove her tools from out of her bag within the first clasp as she looked through the transparent parchment on LilyÕs belly. ÒNot much longer now.Ó Some tools looked comforting enough or tolerable like one Lily recognized for clamping an umbilical cord. Then she gasped and James's face lit in horror as he pulled out one with a huge, sinister spiraling sort of screw at the end with pointed metal claws on opposite sides.  
  
"No need to look as if a chimera were on a rampage you two," Haven laughed, "I won't be using that one, I just like to carry all my tools with me." Lily wanted to sigh but somehow she wasn't all comforted. Lily watched Haven cover her legs with a large towel and put another underneath her while James pulled out a little, stuffed, Andepolean Opalaye dragon.  
  
Lily cryed out and squeezed her eyes shut through another long contraction. . . Through a haze of excruciation she saw a familiar kitchen and Alice Longbottom who said in Haven's distant voice, "No, that's not how you carry a baby . . .Let me show you--" When she opened her eyes and her vision focused she realized that a high table had been conjured in front of the bed, and the stuffed Opalaye doll James had retrieved sat on it. What had just happened?  
  
"Lily," began Haven, "I want you to concentrate on the dragon and push when I say. You're doing fine, dear,"  
  
Lily, felt James hand brush her forehead. Another contraction seemed to rush through all her body, and the table that the stuffed dragon had been charmed to, shuttered. The haze returned. . . she had to deliver her baby, but pallid hands stretched for him. Voldemort demanded, "Give me the boy."  
  
"No! Get away!" screamed Lily. . . her carelessness had led her son to this. . . where was James?  
  
Lily could vaguely make out a wand. It looked undefined around the edges like everything else around her. Two figures kept tuning in and out, fading into one menacing other. "What are you doing? Don't point that at her!" came James's voice. He sounded so distant. "She's loosing consciousness. I'm trying to help!" protested a feminine voice. What was going on? Where were they?  
  
Then there was weakness all through Lily's body. The last two voices had faded away. to be replaced by a high, crazed cackle. Mad red eyes were glinting at her triumphantly, and the wand came back stronger than ever directed at her stomach. A new strengthening surge erupted from her.  
  
"NO! NOOOOOO! You can't have him!" she shouted at Voldemort.  
  
"Lily, concentrate," said James. Voldemort was disappearing but his chilling laugh echoed in her mind.  
  
"Oh James," she moaned as a tear leaked from the corner of her eye, "I don't want to have this baby."  
  
"What? It's a little late for that now, don't you think?"  
  
ÒIÕm not--- joking!Ó she panted. ÒJames..?Ó  
  
She could indistinctly see James now. He seemed ghostly, though he hovered over her . . . Had he died? Suddenly an image of him laying utterly motionless rushed to her sight. Her reality was clashing with her reoccurring nightmare. The dolorous labor made it difficult otherwise to tell the difference as both delivery and her nightmare tugged at so much of her attention and absorbed her strength.  
  
Hysteria overtook her again, and concentration vanished. . . "No. NO! He wants our baby! He's coming for our baby!" she sobbed. . . She could hazily see Voldemort poised readying his wand. . . ÒJames, don't . . . come back--- I--" She felt some magic bind her to wherever it was that she lay thrashing, and the same woman's voice saying, "It's almost time to push."  
  
"Lily, I'm right here," soothed an invisible man. But the high- pitched cackle was louder.  
  
"No, not my baby, too!" sobbed Lily summoning whatever courage would aid her now.  
  
Voldemort grasped her face, but his grasp was not cold, pale, and dangerous at all. The grip morphed into James hand.  
  
James. He was here. He was alive. "Lily focus on me. No one is here for our baby. Whoever tries something like that will break out into so many sores-- no boil in so much undiluted bubotuber pus--"  
  
Things were coming back into clarity. She could see James's hazel eyes fearful and concerned digging into her own.  
  
"Sounds like a hex you put on a sixth year back a school." He smiled, relieved, at her wit. Lily gasped at the most excruciating of contractions yet.  
  
"Lily, you're strong. Fight, through. Look at the Opalaye," James assured. She then remember where she was, that she still had her baby, and that she needed to focus on that doll now. That pretty little Opalaye that wasn't drenched in sweat and hurting all over. That had to change.  
  
"Push," ordered Haven from underneath the covers. Lily did so. "Push, Lily. Good." Lily shot a contemptuous glare at the Opalaye whose neck twisted around so tightly that had it been real it would have snapped. It must have been charmed to stay on the table and take the brutality that she subjected it to.  
  
The echoing cackle returned, and her heart raced faster. Although she was unsure of which was happening anymore, she knew there was a choice to let Voldemort have the child as she was all that stood in his way to the baby, or fight through and give the baby a chance at life. She believed in the chance of life that Aurora and James brought more than the one of death that Voldemort did.  
  
"He is such a pain!" Lily bellowed with a final great cry and the most determined push yet. She heard her baby's sobbing, and felt relief. Dawn's light washed from out the window onto the bed. Lily then recalled what it felt like to have a peaceful sleep.  
  
Lily blinked sleep from her eyes. Confusedly she notice small details like the broken mirror, then bigger ones like the strange, missing feeling of her deflating stomach, the absence of the Healer-Midwife and her Opalaye, a note from Haven that started with "Congratulations" and "I'm so proud of you, Lily," and the papers by the bedside table where the word birth certificate clearly read from the top. Like deja vu, the events of late last night rushed to her.  
  
Morning light spilled into the room through the huge window of the guestroom. She followed it with her eyes to where James sat in a chair before her, holding a small bundle of cloth.  
  
"So, I do all the work, but you hold the glory?" Lily croaked to James. The screaming of labor had taken her voice. James looked up slowly from the bundle and beamed an expression of overwhelming joy. He crossed the room over to her side, and placed what turned out to be a welcomed pain, but still a pain after all, in her arms.  
  
Lily gazed at the little ball of purityÕs unblemished face, whispered, ÒHeÕs a baby angel...Ó and faltered.  
  
James answered in the strangest voice Lily had ever heard issue from his mouth, "I thought that 'he was such a pain.' " It was filled with his normal sarcasm but busting with something new.  
  
But Lily forgot all that as she continued staring down again, and without realization whispered, "What pain?"  
  
The feeling seemed to surpass words. Lily felt pride rise up inside of her. She made this . . . James helped, but only a little! It wasn't like the Outstanding + on her Charms N.E.W.T., or invention of an easier way to enchant a wound shut. This breathing work would have personality and a chance at the things in life she hadn't had. She could give him that. . . or die trying.  
  
She wanted to give her son everything. Her son. She liked the sound of that even in ony her mind.  
  
"Healer Haven will come back to call, to check on you and the baby later this evening, but she had to go. I think Alice went into labor this morning as well,  
"I left it blank on the certificate, but," James hesitated, "we are naming him James Potter II. Right?" Lily knowing the same smile of reverie hung on her lips turned to James. Then with a playful sort of pity, shook her head.  
  
"No. We've been through this. How will I ever tell you two apart?"  
  
"You can call me 'my king' or 'lordship' and our,Ó James sighed here and with bold pride repeated, "you can call our son James."  
  
"I like 'Harry.'Ó  
  
James whined, "Why?"  
  
"It's my favorite boy's name." A moment passed before she offered, "How about a compromise?" James kept his eyes on their son, but raised his eyebrows. "Why donÕt we name him both: Harry James Potter?"  
  
James considered. "Fair enough." Lily turned her head away, back to Harry. She had just been thinking everything had worked out for the best but something sat unsettled inside of her like a dead fish that floated to the surface of a lake. Then James narrowed his eyes intently at her.  
  
With an unsure exhale she began, "James, I remember my dream now. I couldn't before. . . It was like the last times." James eyes flashed and he without a missed second drew up a plain chair out of thin air with a stroke of his wand. It clattered to the floor. Harry moaned and twisted in Lily's arms.  
  
"I was living my nightmare. It felt like. . . the real ones." Lily was what wizards called a Psychic, slightly different from a Seer which fell into trances to prophesize rather than rely on intuision and vision. Lily had had premonitions before, mostly in her sleep like any other dream but found by the death of her parents just what she was seeing could sometimes be true. Once she had been terribly wrong and found that what she had believed to be a vision was only her insecurities creeping from her subconcious. She barely escaped Death Eaters because of it.  
  
She went in a detailed account of what she had seen. James listened raptly, and flinched at the part of his dead body. Then silence fell.  
  
"Voldemort doesn't even know of Harry's existence, Lily. Besides he hasn't any reason to come for him."  
  
Lily quickly jumped to several reasons why Voldemort could use her baby. Ransom. Bait. Dark Arts sacrifice. She began sobbing unrestrainedly as she let Harry's puffed hand hold her pinky.  
  
"I'm sorry I was cross with you--" Lily offered through tears, but James cut her off with quiet hushing.  
  
"Whatever. Look. I shouldn't have pushed you about it. You've always been straight forward with me--" Harry broke the apologies with gurgling.  
  
The newborn blinked up at them with curious eyes. Tiny wisps of black hair threatening to follow James's example peeked out from under the blanket wrapped over his head. Hair line veins could be seen on his puffy eye lids. He pouted small lips.  
  
Perhaps it was only a nightmare and she had been stressing unnecessarily. She had once dreamed that she had been trapped in a giant pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, but that didn't mean she was doomed to live in a multi-colored bubble for days. Lily sniffled and changed the subject. "I know it's baby button, but I think that that's your nose, James."  
  
"I think you're right. In fact, I think my genes carried on quite nicely." Lily soon regretted this. He didn't need this baby to fuel his ego, which had gotten much better than when in school but emained in small measures.  
  
"Well. . . I reckon that's my chin!" she declared.  
  
Lily weakly pushed her crimson hair from her faces and beamed bemusedly at her husband opening then closing his mouth. Finally Lily fell for James' sparkling eyes as he started, "I can see you in him, too, Lily." He kept his gaze on a cooing Harry James Potter who just opened his own Lily-like, brilliant emerald eyes. "I can see you looking back at me." But was the inheritance of LilyÕs eyes a good thing? 


End file.
